Moments
by Lady Merlin
Summary: Sometimes the things Jim Kirk does are inexplicable, but they make sense in the larger picture, Spock hopes. Snapshots of moments from the movie, from Spock's POV. Pre K/S warning! Mainly friendship, so far.


Okay, this is the bit where I admit, this is the kinda fic that starts off with me having absolutely no clue of what I'm doing, running on pure desire to express my feelings about Kirk and Spock. Wow. I've never admitted that before. Okay, moving on. This is an early warning that this fic _may_ be disjointed, because due to the nor-very-nurturing ministrations of my sister, I have learned (the hard way) that no matter how hard you try, you cannot finish these types of fics in one night. Wow, another first. It also may not make sense. At all. So yeah. Shit happens, right?

Traditional disclaimer, you ask? *rummages around* Here it is!

The prose belongs to Paramount, the poetry is to be shared. Their universe will not suffer much from the poking and prodding of our collective Curious imaginations. We mean our beloved characters no harm, and think they quite possibly enjoy the variety. :)

P.S. this is based on a zillion different things I've noticed in the movies, mixed with things which I've dreamt up, so seriously, it may not make sense. :D

Enjoy!

***~*~***

To stand next to that _man_ on the transporter was nothing less than pure hell. It is difficult to describe emotion, for one who has spent the entirety of his life suppressing them, but no other word can come close to what I thought, standing there.

The man is an _idiot_, and from me this is as critical as it gets, due to my normal restraint in expressing opinions regarding crew members. He has no control, no restraint and no apparent redeeming qualities, what-so-ever. And _no_, I am not being harsh. He is a buffoon, who does not deserve to stand on this ship, beside some of the bravest men I have known. He should have been mutinied for insubordination in the first place, along with Dr. McCoy, regardless of his rank and status. Green-eared hobgoblin _indeed_.

On top of that, when I assured him that I expected nothing but insubordination from him, he had the _gall_ to clap me on the shoulder! As if we were acquaintances, friends even! He obviously had no idea that even this contact is considered intimate to a Vulcan. He obviously didn't know that I could sense his feelings even in that brief contact.

He cannot have known, and he is obviously insane. The range of feelings he should have been experiencing were displeased, at best. But instead, I noted calmness, of a sort. Terror, and crippling self doubt, and belief in good, and in Spock_, himself_ of all people. That faith and trust in itself should raise _serious_ questions about the Captain's mental status.

The man _relished_ Spock's anger. It was incomprehensible! Why would anyone _appreciate_ anger? Some sort of stabilizing thing? It was, as he said, incomprehensible. The man must be insane.

Whatever the case, now was not the time. If he was to be saved be a madman, saved he would be. If the same madman could save the Enterprise, all the better.

***~*~***

When the Captain assured him that he had 'got his back', there was a strange sense of reassurance which he would, really not have expected. He didn't trust the man in the _least_, especially not with his life, but there was something about James T. Kirk that told him that even if he hated Spock's guts, he wouldn't let him die.

And he did, most emphatically, not hate Spock's guts, that much Spock could tell. A brief brush with his shoulder and an accidental elbow knock told him that there was nothing but respect for Spock, in the Captain's mind. It was strange, and flattering, and most importantly, reassuring. He was _not_ misreading the situation. James Kirk _liked_ him.

He was also silent, which was interesting. Everything about the man was loud and intrusive. His very presence in the room gave the feeling that he _owned_ the place, that he was completely in control of the situation.

That no one should be worried.

But he himself was terrified. It didn't show, _at all_. He projected an air of confidence in himself and the crew, and the ship, and even the bad-guy behaviour of the Romulans. He trusted Mr. Scot and Dr. McCoy and Lt. Uhura and Sulu and Chekov and even the almost-anonymous Ensign Mercer, but he didn't trust himself.

This man was an enigma. Spock couldn't understand him, couldn't classify him. It just didn't work. And Spock _really_ didn't like it. Illogical as they were, Humans followed a strict pattern of illogic. This man flouted all rules, loud and proud.

He had been distracted while scanning the unconscious Romulan's mind, but he had known there was someone there behind him. If he had broken the meld at that point, the man's mind would have been shattered, and Spock couldn't do that even though he desired to. Later he would be glad that he had not dome something so violently against his principles.

The sound of a body slumping to the floor was immensely reassuring. It never even occurred to him that it might be _Kirk, _not the Romulan who was dead. The Captain was an exemplary marksman. Somehow, Spock couldn't bring himself to regret hacking his personal files back on Earth.

***~*~***

Standing there in the polished white control room of the one-man shuttle from the future (Spock did not, at that time, know that) Spock felt something new.

As they walked in, and Kirk spun to his right to face him, as Spock spun to the left, there was no word to describe the feeling of intimacy, or warmth. It was as if it was a choreographed dance, as if they knew each step of the others', each swing and move and just basically knew each other.

It was improbable, illogical and completely undeniable.

Spock couldn't understand it.

Touching this man was unavoidable in his line of duty, but the brushes he'd had into Kirk's psyche were of a conscience which was as familiar to him as, as the humans once put it, the back of his hand. There was great meaning in that phrase. He knew Kirk. He knew his existence, he knew his meaning and he knew his feelings, but he did not know his purpose, his motivations, or his thoughts, just as he did not know each individual cell on the back of his hand.

It felt so _right_, standing in front of him. Vulcans were never a race to shy from beauty, and beautiful Kirk was. In a completely neutral observers point of view, of course. In the eerily bright white lights of the shuttle, standing there with a magnificent view of the heavens out there, the only thing Spock could being himself to see was Kirk's eyes.

Kirk fit well into his own profile. He was around the same height, but of different proportions. His hips and chest were more set, more stable. His waist was almost feline, which was the only word that could _possibly_ be used to describe Spock. Spock was feline all over. Slender, tall, lean yet muscled. Kirk even smelled comforting.

Spock _knew_ the stress of this mission was getting to him.

Kirk's words were just that; words. But they would not have worked any better if he had reached out and touched Spock's heart. His faith in the success of the mission was not faith in himself (as Spock knew), but faith in Spock and the crew. Faith in a belief that the universe is fair, which Spock knew it was not. But somehow this faith, a blind, unquestioning type of faith, made Spock himself feel like everything would be better (without even defining 'better'), and that time would heal all wounds.

_Even thought it would not._

But at that point in time the faith helped him make a solid decision and stick with it. Even though it wasn't entirely logical.

In retrospect, Spock decided that this quality, above all else which he had recently discovered, make Kirk a good Captain. It was the quality to make people feel strong and confident, to make them believe in themselves. It was a good quality. It worked.

***~*~***

It was a glance. Nothing more. A flash of a grin as Jim Kirk walked past Spock in a corridor.

Yet it contained _so much_, that it was almost difficult to decipher. _Almost. _

There was gratitude, and sorrow, and something like the feeling of shared secrets and experiences. There was regret, and point blank terror, and bad dreams, and something that Spock could not make out, despite his superior abilities to decipher facial key points.

The miniscule flash of startlingly white teeth sent a flash of heat up Spock's spine, the blue eyes shrouded in mischief and golden hair. Spock had witnessed first hand, the effects of the Captain's smile. A young ensign had walked into a bulkhead, and Dr. McCoy had let Spock out of the sick ward a full two days early, which was _indeed_ a feat to be admired.

Uhura herself admitted her slight attraction to Kirk (after they discussed all the reasons they shouldn't be together, advocating for the same cause and then realizing their silliness), and there was no other word for Chekov but _love-struck_. The Captain was a man who claimed, if not encouraged, the attractions of every living creature that breathed aboard his ship, be it man, woman or alien.

Spock couldn't blame her. There was a certain appeal in his confidence-but-not-confidence. In a strictly non-involved sort of way, of course.

The heat caused by Kirk's grin was so many things, least of all physical. He hoped, anyway.

Spock sighed quietly to himself. It was confusing, this emotion business. It was a whole bag of unknown, as Kirk would put it. _Jim_, he heard his voice, correcting him. _Call me Jim_.

Maybe he would.

Well? How is it? It's been three days, and I'm rapidly going crazy. I had to finish this bit, because I'm running dry with words while emotions overflow ('m I making sense?) I'll put up more of these thought-things, maybe even from Jim's POV, but let me know how I'm doing here, first, okay?

REVIEW!!!

Love,

Lady Merlin


End file.
